


signs of emotional immaturity

by smarky



Category: All About Eve (1950)
Genre: F/F, Masturbation Interruptus, Period-Typical Homophobia, Vaginal Fingering, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22058461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarky/pseuds/smarky
Summary: An incident that occurred before Bill’s birthday party, when Margo said that Eve would probably undress her and tuck her into bed, if Margo asked her to.Written for thefemslashficletsjanelle monae lyric prompt challenge - #8 "Am I sinner with my skirt on the ground?"
Relationships: Margo Channing/Eve Harrington
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19
Collections: femslashficlets: janelle monae lyric prompt challenge





	signs of emotional immaturity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cookinguptales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookinguptales/gifts).



The first thing Margo sees is Eve’s hand turning on the light. Her infant smooth skin, as young as the rest of her. Her long fingers. 

“I thought I heard a terrible noise. Are you alright? I can call someone if you’re hurt, or there’s always the first aid kit in the pantry--” Eve panics, voice growing shrill, as if she had found Margo’s bleeding corpse rather than her laying wide awake in bed. 

It’s so embarrassing, that this could happen. Margo had thought she had taken every effort to be quiet. Eve didn’t need to see her like this, it would probably hurt something in her to know her idol had this side to her. 

Clearly something had slipped through, just as she finds herself still slightly sliding her fingers in and out of herself the covers. That voraciousness everyone finds fault with on display again, for an audience of one. 

“I’m quite alright, apart from the lost beauty rest.” Margo may be flushed and she might have a slight hitch in her voice, but she’s still an actress. Hell will freeze over before Eve hears her stutter unintentionally. “Your concern is sweet, but let’s both return to bed.” 

Eve leaves the doorway and kneels down at the side of her bed. It reminds Margo of the times Eve has helped to undress her, kneeling and pulling away her outer costume with a gentleness that doesn’t match the eager puppy look in her eyes. “Let me check on you, you seem a bit feverish,” Eve implores. “You’re so strong, but you don’t need to hide such an ordinary thing from me. Maybe I heard you cry out in your sleep, from the pain of it.” 

“Talking in my sleep like a madman… well, don’t cart me off to the asylum just yet. It won’t hold up in court.” Hopefully she’s keeping conversation well enough to distract Eve from the way her puppet of a body twitches every time she comes close to grazing her sweet spot. It feels too good to stop. 

“Of course. It can just be between the two of us.” 

Eve's cool hand is on her forehead now, brushing her hair back, feeling along her face. The touch is too sweet. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” says Margo. She wants to push Eve away, or just touch her at all, but her hands are wet with herself. 

“There’s nothing I can do for you?” Eve's quiet, forlorned. Innocent as a lamb. How can she possibly not realize… An idea pops into Margo's head. 

“Well… I shouldn’t ask this of you…” 

“There’s nothing you shouldn’t ask, after all you’ve done for me.” 

"Do you ever… massage yourself, under your skirt?" Margo has to say this very carefully. 

"Sometimes, Ms.Channing. I've never had reason to mention it to another person."

"It's not quite enough for me sometimes. I need another person to help me, when I'm in a certain mood."

"Like Mr.Sampson." Eve's crawled onto the bed. Her nightgown is flimsy, both showing off her body, her smooth young skin, and reminding Margo how vulnerable she is. 

"Perhaps..." What would it hurt? Eve doesn't know about what this would be. This disease, that the papers won't name, and that would never have been mentioned in company with such a delicate woman. In time the wild elements of the theater will likely introduce her to it, but not yet. For now, Margo can have her. 

"I'll take such good care of you, I promise." 

Margo's breath hitches as Eve lifts the covers, with the same reverence as she touches the main curtain. She looks down at Margo, her fingers inside, glistening and swollen, her dressing gown scrunched up around her breasts. And Eve smiles. Margo can't believe this is happening, but she has to. She's certain now that she won't get release otherwise. 

“Just give me your hand,” says Margo, and Eve readily places it in hers. She guides it down, spreads her fingers so she’s cradling Margo’s sex. “Now move your finger up. Right there. Oh.” 

At first Eve is hesitant, looking back up at Margo constantly as she slides her fingers around. Then she brushes up quickly against that place, the tip of the mountain Margo’s lovers climb. Now Margo truly can’t control the way her body jerks in response. 

“Keep massaging there,” Margo says weakly, not even wanting to look at her. She begins to thrusts her fingers again, chasing the edge. 

“Of course, Ms.Channing.” 

Eve rubs her fingers up against Margo again and again, soon so steadily that it’s almost better than the way Margo does it, like she had practiced this, like she was made for it. Margo isn’t beneath such thoughts when her mind is floating in pleasure. Margo leans up to get a better angle, and her dressing gown falls down, getting in Eve’s way. Eve pulls the gown over Margo, moves Margo’s arms until it’s off and she’s naked and the gown is thrown on the floor. It’s forceful, the behavior of a man really, but of course Eve just dutifully wants to see her task to completion. Stalwart, determined Eve. 

“You deserve to relax. Let me take over the other part.” 

Margo doesn’t have time to protest before Eve has pulled Margo’s fingers out and inserted half of her own. After that sudden fullness, and the long continued pressure on the tip of her, it isn’t long before Margo is pulsing around Eve’s hand. Eve doesn’t take them out until Margo pushes at her, and then she holds it up to look at it, marveling at the fluid. 

“Wash your hands,” says Margo. Now that she’s gotten off she feels incredibly ashamed. “Let’s not speak of this again.” 

Eve’s tiny “Okay.” is so sweet that Margo wants to bang her head against the wall. This is why she needs Bill. Without him, she’s not a woman at all, but reduced to flinging her sexuality around like a monster.


End file.
